


Watching Over

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam just wants to make sure Dean doesn’t get any sicker than he already is. If he amuses himself a little at the same time, who can blame him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching Over

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Again but with More Colds](http://mad-server.livejournal.com/56533.html) comment-fic meme. It's loosely a sequel to my pre-series story [I Wish Turkey Only Cost a Nickel](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/420365.html), but there's no need to read that one first. This story is set vaguely S2-S3.

Sam parked the Impala in front of Walgreens and looked over at Dean, who was either half-asleep or actually asleep in the passenger seat. Dean needed his rest, but if he woke up while Sam was in the store it was a toss-up whether he'd manage to make it into the store or just wander into traffic.

"Hey, Dean." Sam shook Dean's shoulder gently, and Dean woke up with a deep sniffle that turned into a harsh cough.

He looked around blearily. "We back at the house?"

"No, I just need to run in and get your prescriptions. The doctor faxed them over, so it should only take a few minutes. Stay here, okay?"

"No, m'comin'." Dean fumbled with the door handle until Sam stilled his hand.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

Dean closed his eyes and sniffled again, coughing out, "bossy."

Sam shook his head and got out into the chilly November air, closing the door quickly behind him. Inside the store, Sam grabbed a cart and quickly went through the aisles picking up the supplies the doctor at the urgent care clinic had recommended: fluids to keep Dean hydrated, saline nasal spray, Mucinex, tissues and a humidifier. Together with the antibiotics and inhaler waiting for him at the pharmacy counter, all of it should get Dean over his case of mild pneumonia without letting him get any sicker.

The shelf with the humidifiers looked hard-hit, not a surprise given the number of people sniffling and hacking away in the clinic. Only two kinds were left in stock--the store brand, which was the reasonable choice, and one that looked like a bright green frog. Sam looked back and forth, took in the fact that the frog one was $15 more expensive, and then put his choice in the cart. He couldn't help himself.

Back out in the car Dean was asleep, huddled in his leather jacket, and he only woke up enough to blink at Sam when he got back behind the wheel. They'd spent the last couple of nights squatting in a foreclosed house, but Sam drove them to a decent chain motel because a cold house with no electricity just wasn't going to hack it. Dean claimed he was fine, that they could get back on the road, but Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

He'd only been a kid the last time Dean got pneumonia, a dozen years ago, and back then hadn’t realized how sick Dean was until he’d started puking up his lungs and turning blue. No way was Sam letting Dean do that again, not right under his nose. The doctor said this case was mild, barely pneumonia at all, but since Dean had a history he wanted to treat it aggressively. The head cold Dean had on top of it was just making him more miserable, but at least it wasn't a sinus infection.

At the motel, Sam checked in and then dragged the bags into the room. He was on his way back out to get Dean when Dean came shuffling inside, coughing into his fist and steadying himself on the doorframe. He eyed up the room and then glared at Sam as if to say, "What did you get us a room for?" The effect was ruined when he sniffled and wiped his hand under his nose.

"Whatever," Dean said, then pulled off his jacket, picked up his duffel and stumbled into the bathroom. When he came out a few minutes later, he was wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, which was the ultimate admission that he felt like shit.

"Hey, before you sack out, you need to take your drugs."

"Awesome." The word came out rough, and Dean coughed again then wheezed audibly as he sat down on the closest bed.

"Here." Sam tossed the inhaler to Dean, who shook it up and took a puff off of it while Sam opened the bottles and put Dean's pills on the nightstand along with a bottle of orange Gatorade. While Dean was busy getting the pills down his raw throat, Sam took his other purchase into the bathroom, glanced at the instructions, and filled it up with water. There was an open outlet next to the dresser across from Dean's bed, so Sam set it up there.

He turned it on, and it gurgled a little but was otherwise quiet. Sam walked back over to make sure Dean took his pills, and when Dean looked up and saw the humidifier he started shaking his head. "What the hell is that thing, Sammy?"

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/embroiderama/pic/00075xyh/)

"It's a humidifier. The doctor said it would help you get better faster, and you don't want to be stuck here any longer than you need to, right?"

"We don't need to be stuck here at all." The last two words were a barely audible croak and Dean coughed, one hand reaching up to press against his chest.

"Uh-huh. Why don't you just go to sleep. I'll wake you up when you need more drugs, and maybe you'll feel better tomorrow."

"It's for kids. Little kids, Sammy, which I am not."

"Sorry, man, it's the only one they had in stock," Sam lied, feeling not at all guilty about it.

Dean blew his nose and took another few sips of the Gatorade. "It's creepy."

"It's plastic. Go to sleep." Sam did his best to channel John Winchester in his gruff-but-nice mood, and somehow it worked. Dean rolled under the covers and curled up on his side. Before Sam turned away to unpack his duffel, Dean was asleep.

~~~

"Hey, Dean. Wake-up." Sam put his palm on Dean’s forehead while he was still asleep enough to allow it, and his temperature felt a little lower already.

Dean rolled over and sat up, pressing a hand over his still-closed eyes and then sneezed and coughed simultaneously, which didn't look like a lot of fun. "Here." Sam pushed a wad of tissues into Dean's hand. "You just need to take your drugs, then you can go back to sleep."

"Mmmmkay," Dean mumbled. He opened his eyes and then looked past Sam. "Freaky thing's lookin’ at me."

"Huh?" Sam didn't think Dean's temperature was anywhere near high enough to be causing hallucinations, but maybe Dean was having a bad reaction to one of the drugs, maybe--

"The fuckin' frog. Lookin' at me with those big eyes. S'not natural."

"Yeah, well, you need it right now, but as soon as you're better you can shoot it. How about that?"

Dean smiled then, sleepy and bleary but breathing and not turning blue. "Damn straight."


End file.
